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28
It’s a teenage boy thing. I see young men who I know have spent the day either
breaking the sound barrier on a home-made motorbike illegally street racing or,
have scaled the outside of a five storey building to its roof as a dare, and when
asked “what did you get up to today?” will reply. “Oh, you know .... stuff ”.
“Met Lauren again at last” – I need to expand because amongst other things,
feelings like this were new turf for my hitherto bachelor mind. For sure I’d had
times when I’d missed my Mum’s cooking, or her laundry skills. Dad’s wisdom,
Mum’s hugs, mates’ company over a beer were things I could “miss”.
To feel like parched earth in a serious drought was a first.
I found her again, and to simply embrace, share the same space, truly “reunite”
and celebrate the restoration of a recently created harmony was more fulfill-
ing than watering a dried plant. What we talked about was irrelevant, that we
were together was more than important, at the time it felt as vital as insulin to a
diabetic.
Listened to Lauren and choir singing Christmas carols at the German ambassador's house
(the whole reason for my journey).
No it wasn’t, I couldn’t be less interested in a carol concert at the German am-
bassador’s house. – it was a lame excuse to return to Dhaka and pick up Lauren
– I clearly hadn’t got the insulin levels right when I wrote this bit.
Thence to bed.
Thoughts
1. What a long day.
2. Dhaka feels quite different now.
3. The SCF flat feels very different.
4. Who's Ken?
5. This is the longest entry yet.
6. I look awful. The mosquito battle on the train has left my face looking like the surface of
the moon, my clothes look as if I've just walked off a rugby field and I should have left
my beard to a barber (although Lauren likes it).
MEMOIR: BUZZ BURRELL